


raven king.

by archangelcore



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hunter! Seoho, King! Youngjo, M/M, Modern Royalty, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, inspired by Many Oneus MVs, sorry boys, the death tag is Not for either of the main couple, the others make brief appearances, there's a reference to their be mine perf, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archangelcore/pseuds/archangelcore
Summary: Youngjo always knew someone would come bring his kingdom come down.He just didn't expect Lee Gunmin to be the one wielding the blade.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	raven king.

**Author's Note:**

> birthday present for my bestieeeeee
> 
> enjoy?

_-·=»‡«=·-_

_I M I S S T H E M O O N L I G H T. . ._

* * *

In the hour between wolf and man, Kim Youngjo was realizing that he was not proud of the man he's become.

Dreary time brought him memories of himself, youthful and small, looking up to his father. His eyes, dark and round, bore intensity that was unfair to a child his age. He was known for his beautiful features, curling eyelashes and slim face with black, black hair that was feathery on top his head. His father was faceless and bore no resemblance to him. His mother's name was a grave. Youngjo was born with blood in his mouth and bruises purpling his milky skin. He wondered if he even had a name or if it was something that he had given himself in pitiful desperation. Those questions were always sought through magnetic eye contact, but his father had no face. Youngjo would stare until his eyes blurred or strained, but all he could see was static and comical loops blackening his father's features out. He could study him all day long but still figure out nothing. At times like this, he wondered if his father always looked like this. If it was natural or his memory scratched him gone.

As soon as the chilled spring thrust him unceremoniously into adulthood, he had long stopped questioning who smeared the blood on his hands or if his father was even real at all.

Youngjo had assumed his life was put up for the taking. He was always placed among stolen jewels and knife-ended branches that pricked at his exposed ankles whenever he sluggishly passed by. He was far too used to his thick cape snagging at the debris littering the palace. It wasn't debris, was it, but skeletal hands that grasped at him desperately. Too sharp for death, but too faint for life. Youngjo had even quit looking back at them, serving them the pitiful attention that they want. 

_THE DEAD DO NOT DESERVE_ _PITY._ An unfamiliar voice would deafen his thoughts, shaking his skull until his jaw chattered and eyes hurt, _WHO DIES BUT THE WEAK?_

That was something that made him want to chuckle in earnest. Youngjo was not immortal. He was well aware that this phony kingdom his father made for him would come crashing down terribly one day. He counted them down on his blackened hands, fingertips an ugly bruise and nails far too sharp for his own liking. He wouldn't categorize himself as weak, but rather someone who knew of his own morality. Would he think of himself to be soft and easy to break if he was aware that he was vulnerable? Was he weak if he fell victim to the predetermined fate that was laid out for him, carefully mapped and detailed? That voice didn't know what it was talking about. It spoke, but didn't know.

Yet, it was enough to get Youngjo to stop wringing his hands. A nervous habit that was replaced with a stone-cold gaze and silence. He stopped figuring out how to warm his frozen skin, instead choosing to press his thumb against the soft spot under his chin, contemplating what would happen if he pushed into his throat. Would he bleed? Would it color red or would it be the inky black that his mother coughed up onto his bedding as he tried to sleep?

He'd lower his hand. A hypothesis for another day.

There wasn't one thing that might quite describe Youngjo. Most of his subjects said he was coldly beautiful. He had a face carved from marble: delicate features that were breathtaking. Bowed lips, the gentle slope to his nose, and his omnipresent eyes that spoke of dead galaxies. He was worshiped among lands that were barren, empty trees stretching grotesquely among withering grass and gray skies. The sun that held high in the sky was red, but Youngjo had long known why that was. It would never gleam a day in pure white for as long as he remained alive.

Youngjo knew that, overall, he was born to be a curse. His cape draped over his lightly glowing chest. If he were to curl his onyx fingers into his cape and draw it back, his burning crimson heart would be visible through his paper-like skin. Eyes dark, watching, waiting his demise as his fingers curled into his silken shirt. The crown of thorns that nestled against his head didn't bite into him in the way that he wanted to. Maybe if he felt a pinch of pain, he might be able to remind himself that he's still as human as the rest of them. 

Then again, his people were ghouls and he was their cruel raven king. At least, to other kingdoms, he was.

Youngjo had been expecting it for many years now. That rattle of his door that shook his whole palace, the trail of footsteps that lead right to his throne. His gaze had been rolled to the sky, fingers curled laxly over the arms. He wasn't scared; he knew he should be, but he could hardly find an ounce of driving fear in him. He was content, oddly enough, and he wished for this to be as over as quick as possible. The room was empty save for the shuddering breath of his soon-to-be killer, which confused Youngjo. He had expected the person that slayed him to be confident at their job. Perhaps they might've wanted this for many moons now, and to be honest, Youngjo was a bit disappointed he couldn't see the moon turn white at least once. He's heard the tales that spoke of it being tender and cool, not malicious and eerie. He lamented this over the shaky breathing, and when there were no immediate curses or threats to his life, he finally decided to stop playing like a still doll and looked down. He almost regretted it the second he did.

Before him, in all of his glory, was Lee Gunmin. Youngjo's childhood friend and ex-lover. 

All at once, his heart seized in his chest, lurching to his throat and tying his words together.

Youngjo hadn't seen Gunmin in years. Not since they were teenagers torn apart from each other. Fate had always been cruel, just as his father had always been faceless. Youngjo remembered Gunmin to be an awkward little thing, with plush lips and high cheekbones. His eyes had always been small, but sparkled with life and curled into fond little crescent moons whenever he smiled. Youngjo had loved running his fingers through Gunmin's thick hair whenever he was too tired to fight against Youngjo's insistence to rest his head on his lap. He enjoyed hearing his sweet laugh, the way he'd pull his mouth into a teasingly tight line, or the soft press of his palm against Youngjo's whenever he reached to interlace their fingers. It seemed eons ago, lost to some vacant memory he couldn't pull forth before.

Such recollections made his wrists itch with the memory of a tight grip. Youngjo's hands drew together and the sharp points of his nails dragged along the sensitive insides of them mindlessly, trying to rid of the feeling.

"Gunminie," Youngjo croaked, not realizing he had said it until he saw Gunmin flinch. He had been too lost in marveling over the other male's maturity to realize that his voice was rough from unuse. Gunmin had definitely grown into himself, shedding the awkward teenage years to become someone more conventionally beautiful. His skin was still pale and his cheeks looked still round, but he was not the Gunmin that Youngjo had once knew. His eyes were different, carrying a gaze that Youngjo didn't recognize. He looked at him like he was stuck in some tragedy he couldn't change the direction of. Youngjo stared, eyes falling half lidded as he drank in the sight of the man he had missed for so long. He had been starting to think that his life concerning Gunmin had been a sweet dream to keep him at ease of mind. He studied him, from his curly hair that was now a fading, but vibrant, oragnge, to the slope of his slightly hooked nose to his bitten lips that made Youngjo's eyebrows pinch together for a split second. The slender column of his neck, the spread of his broad shoulders, leading down to an aesthetically slim waist, to...

To the uniform. To the badge of a sword stabbing downwards, raven wings stretched out painfully besides it. To the rubied hilt of the blade that Gunmin clutched in a trembling hand.

Ah.

Youngjo always knew that someone would come bring his kingdom come down.

He just didn't expect Lee Gunmin to be the one wielding the blade.

"Gunminie," Youngjo repeated, low with grief at his belated realization. This seemed to startle Gunmin out of whatever trance he was thrown in himself, his shoulders tensing as he shook his head rapidly.

"No," He said, voice wavering, "I'm not Gunmin anymore. My name is Seoho."

"Seoho." Youngjo tested the name. His nose scrunched; he hated it. It was alien and rotten on his tongue. He didn't know this man- not anymore. This was someone that had Gunmin's face, but not much else. This was an identity stolen from him. Youngjo's fingers curled violently towards his palms, digging deep and beading blood in their wake. _Seoho_ seemed to notice this, his face contorting as he eyed Youngjo's shaking hands. He looked unsure, but it was still an expression Youngjo hated to see on him. He wasn't sure he could handle this whiplash. His chest burned and flurried against this disappointment, this change of face and name that he couldn't even consider fathoming. This was a strange. He said as much, too.

Seoho mimicked rue and grief. "Am I a stranger, Ravn?" He asked, forlorn, and Youngjo shivered at the use of his infamously given name, "Am I stranger to you or am I stranger to your memories?"

Youngjo's mind swirled, trying to grasp at what this hunter meant. _A stranger to his memories?_ What could that even _mean_? A shiver tore through him, and for once in his life, he felt cold and scared.

He was _**terrified**_ _._

-·=»‡«=·-

_I F Y O U W A N T , W E C A N W A T C H T H E M O O N . . ._

* * *

When he met Gunmin, he was nine years old, and he had brushed off the other boy's scraped knee. His mother was dying back at the palace and he knew she'd be a pile of ghoulish nothing in no time, but the boy with the poodley hair and squirrel-like features was more interesting than the topic of death back home. Seoho didn't cry, it seemed, because Youngjo knew he'd get misty-eyed himself had he been in the same situation. 

Actually, Youngjo wished he could feel like he could relate. He had long stopped crying at scratches and cuts, since his father hated them so much. He would never do anything to disappoint him, so he let himself get hurt, and he stopped shedding tears over it. He would much rather sit in the corner and watch them bloom under his skin, boredly. 

The staff had called him demonic for this. Psychotic for his lack of reaction, for his lack of response. Seeing a weary smile bunch this boy's face up had given him relief. He wasn't the only one in the world with a mismatched reaction to something seen as terrible. He beamed brightly at this, letting the happiness slip through his carefully schooled expression, and the other boy was startled out of clutching his knee tightly to his chest to look at Youngjo like he grew a second head.

"Sorry, sorry!" Youngjo giggled his fit, throwing up his hands. He hadn't felt this much glee in a while, "It's just- you're not crying!"

"No," The boy replies in a murmur, just as confused as him, "I'm not."

"Doesn't it hurt?" Youngjo asks, to which the boy pulls his hands back, cautiously looking at the injury. There was some reddening, but it didn't seem that the skin split enough to bleed. After a few moments of both of them quietly analyzing the damage, the boy slapped his hands back down over the scraped patch and pressed until his knuckles whitened. 

"It stings a bit," He admitted, before he seemed to lose interest in the conversation about his knee and squinted at Youngjo, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Youngjo had lived a life of people constantly knowing who he was. His mother had called him arrogant through a raspy, drooping tone once. "I'm Youngjo."

"Youngjo?" The boy spoke with recognition, but it faded quick, "Like the Raven Prince?"

"I'm not sure." Youngjo had been called many names in his life. _Princeling_ being the main one, but he hadn't heard _Raven Prince_ before, so he couldn't exactly say it was the same thing, making him the same person. "Who are you?"

"Lee Gunmin," The boy had gave quickly, looking up at Youngjo from under his eyelashes. Like this, he looked a bit intimidating, and Youngjo rarely found people intimidating. Especially boys his own age. His father told him that they were nothing but dust, and if needed, Youngjo could wiped them out. He couldn't possible do that at this age; he was far too small, still learning the ropes of being king one day. His father's hand was still heavy on his shoulder and Gunmin was now standing up in front of him. Wobbly, Youngjo mimicked his movements.

Gunmin wasn't dressed like the people he knew. His shirt was just a bit too big for his tiny body, hanging loosely off his shoulders and tattered shortly at his sleeves. Youngjo had an urge to reach up and pull at the wild strand of hair sticking up from the boy's head, so he answered to it. Gunmin jerked away just before Youngjo's sneaky fingers made contact with his head, looking at him wild-eyed.

"Don't do that." He said, tersely, which had Youngjo mimicking his shocked expression.

"Do what? Touch you? Your hair is so curly..." Youngjo was entranced, lips parting in awe as he reached for Gunmin again, instinctively. Recoiling, Gunmin stared at him like he was crazy.

"Okay, and?!" He was shrill, his voice higher in pitch than usual, "Doesn't mean you can touch it!"

"Oh." Youngo blinked, "Sorry."

There was a beat of awkward silence as Youngjo tried to figure out what to do next. Gunmin was standing a bit too far away to test his next theory, so he remained put in his own place, fingers flexing thoughtfully as his gaze hopped around from the darkened bushes and wilting trees, back to Gunmin's pouty face. That's where he, far too late at that, saw the scabbing at the corner of Gunmin's mouth, his eye purple and temples blemished green.

"You-" Youngjo choked on his own saliva trying to stammer out the warning, "You're hurt-"

" _Shhh_!" Gunmin hissed sharply, slamming one slender finger to his pursed lips, "Don't say that out loud! You can't say that out loud."

"Why?" Youngjo was startled. He couldn't say certain phrases out loud, either, but this was certainly not one of them. If he was hurt, the nurses wanted to know so they could help him. Wouldn't Gunmin's nurses want to know the same so they could bundle him in bandages and give him a sucker for his cooperation?

"Daddy doesn't like it." Gunmin's shoulders were raised halfway to his ears, occasionally glancing behind him, "Mommy says I make too much noise."

"Impossible!" Youngjo chortled, causing Gunmin to recoil once more, "You're so quiet. There's no way you're noisy."

"Mommy doesn't like it," Gunmin wilted like the sad flowers in Youngjo's garden. He didn't give much other than that, which Youngjo admittedly didn't need. Without thinking about Gunmin's earlier reaction to the thought of touch, he reached out and grabbed his hand. Gunmin startled like a scared cat, to which Youngjo was so commonly compared to. Not the scared part- just being compared to a kitten at best. 

"You can be noisy with me!" He insisted instead, as if it'd make up for Gunmin's issues with his mother, "Maybe we can be friends and- and we can hang out a lot!" Youngjo didn't have a lot of friends. His parents didn't allow him to have any. The closest he got was Keonhee, his tutor, but even then his parents didn't like him to hang around the younger prodigy too much. He was loud-mouthed and talked too much. Good for teaching, bad for companionship.

Youngjo wanted friends. Gunmin looked promising. 

"I-I don't know. I live very far away-" Gunmin yelped as Youngjo closed his fingers around him tighter, "Youngjo-"

"It's okay! Don't worry about the distance. There will be none at all when it's you and I!" Youngjo was very persistent with this idea and, with great joy, he watched the tips of Gunmin's ears gradually redden. "I'll always come to find you, 'kay?"

Gunmin didn't respond at first, teeth nervously pulling at his bottom lip.

"Okay?" Youngjo repeated, eyes stretched wide and a toothy smile on his face. Gunmin sighed, bowing his head.

Youngjo happily took it as acceptance.

Over time, Youngjo had grown to know more about the enigma that was Lee Gunmin.

Other than his reluctance to any forms of affection ( _that Youngjo gave anyways_ ), he was quite a strange child. Youngjo would watch him twirl around to the tune of nothing, arms outstretched beside him as he sang his own cheerful song. He sang a lot, actually, which Youngjo never minded. Gunmin had another friend- Hwanwoong- who was the exact opposite of Gunmin. He was tiny and a menace, often picking at Youngjo's own bones, but it never bothered him. Youngjo thought he was cute in the way that a feisty cub was and he left it at that. 

Youngjo was older than Gunmin ( _by a year!_ ) and his occasional friends. He liked that a lot, mainly because it meant he had excuses to take care of the other boy when needed. He'd come with a pot of stew and rice, mainly because Gunmin's mother despised cooking and Gunmin was skinny enough as it was. He didn't like charity work- as he so called it- but Youngjo claimed it was the natural worry of a dear friend. Gunmin's ears would be red as he ate, but he'd begrudgingly blame it on the ftosty autumn when Youngjo annoyingly pulled at his earlobes in retaliation. It was just as difficult to get him to fit in Youngjo's winter sweaters, but Gunmin was absolutely eaten up by them when he did, and there was no cuter sight than that.

Youngjo was quite fond of his friend. Despite Gunmin's constant pushing and whining, Youngjo could assume that he was fond of him, too.

Youngjo was fifteen when he realized that he had feelings for Gunmin. 

It had dawned on him slowly one day as he watched the other boy throw his head back and laugh. Youngjo had always known the name for what he felt when he was around the squishy-cheeked boy: love. Love with all his might, with every ounce of his being, with everything he had. He adored watching Gunmin's cheeks flush whenever he brushed his thumb over his knuckles or whenever he planted a sloppy kiss against his hot cheek. Youngjo adored watching him squirm whenever he'd throw the ' _do you like meeee_ 's at him with greasy ease and knowingness. Gunmin wasn't good at hiding his crush and Youngjo was just that skilled at reading him for filth. 

Except the issue is that he can't tell if Gunmin likes him or the farmer's son, Kim Geonhak.

Geonhak didn't have anything on him, in Youngjo's humble opinion. Sure, he was pretty in a *way*. Youngjo personally didn't find his soft, chick-like features appealing, but Gunmin's eyes always scrunched whenever he looked at the way Geonhak scrunched his nose in displeasure. A quirk that was annoying to Youngjo, personally. He didn't get it. He was broader than the narrowly built, yet somehow still incredibly strong, Geonhak. His hair was sunny and often charmingly parted, according to the village's brat, Son Dongju. He'd often say that Youngjo was much alike a forest dweller with puffy hair that had sticks poking out the top of it and scary eyes that belonged to some beast. Youngjo hated that he'd say it around Gunmin, but Gunmin would only flounder in his defense.

_No, he's not like that, Juju. Don't be saying things like that- it's rude. Youngjo's a good hyung, why don't you pay him some respect, being polite would be good for you-_

Youngjo would raise his chin proudly at that. Of course, Gunmin would choose him over his annoying friends. Geonhak would rumble with laughter, catching Gunmin's attention once more. That was something he could not find himself angry at, because Gunmin and Geonhak often bickered and Gunmin didn't go out of his way to defend him from Dongju's open mouth when he bit down on Geonhak's arm.

Youngjo could have a win or two, right?

Youngjo was seventeen when he acted upon those feelings that festered and boiled within him for two years. 

He was honestly surprised that he had lasted that long. Every waking moment with Gunmin was like driving a blade through his chest, over and over and over again, bleeding him dry. As much as he withered, he didn't lose sight of the other boy. Each smile, each laugh, each tumble or strange joke had Youngjo soaring through the sky that was bloody red. He was among it, gleaming much the same.

The first time Gunmin saw him without his cape had been when Youngjo finally managed to sneak him into the palace library. Gunmin was fearless, something Youngjo always loved about him, and he couldn't help but admire him as he flipped through the books. Gunmin's eyes were still red and puffy from crying earlier that day, which had an ugly feeling churning in his gut. The village kids weren't very kind to him, often belittling him for something he didn't need to be belittled for. Youngjo would give back to them, degradation in their life, and would tell Gunmin they were speaking ill of him due to some sickness they couldn't help when he came running to him in shock the following afternoon. He's done it before and he'll do it again, and barely skirted by on the fact Gunmin thought fate was some odd wonder. 

Youngjo wondered what he'd think if he figured out Youngjo was playing God more often than not.

"I still can't believe you're the prince," Gunmin had said, running his hand over the yellowing pages of the book he was currently scanning over, "I had my suspicion, but I only half-believed it."

"I didn't try to hide it," Youngjo pointed out, shrugging off his cape in a moment of comfort, not realizing that the soft glow of his heart carried through the white blouse. He had been so accustomed to seeing it throughout his life that he had learned to drown out the oddity as it was. "I'm surprised you hadn't noticed before."

"Yes, well, I thought you really _were_ a forest dweller." Gunmin teased, snickering at Youngjo's offended gasp, "I'm just teasing. Hey, hyung- who wrote this, by the way? The text is...strange. Sometimes I can read it, but other times it doesn't even seem like it's Hangul."

"My mother wrote it." Youngjo explained, moving closer to lean over Gunmin from behind, propping his hand on the table. "She wasn't entirely well when she did." He couldn't even mourn his recently deceased mother. He could only think about how warm Gunmin was and how badly Youngjo longed to wrap his arms around his waist and nuzzle against his jaw, recently pink from where he had rubbed his knuckles thoroughly against his jawline in order to depuff his face after Gunmin's short nap.

"I'm sorry," Gunmin said, soft and sympathetic, but it didn't matter to Youngjo, "What language is this in, though?"

"I'm not sure. She- what? What?" Youngjo's eyes widened as Gunmin turned his head, just slightly, only to have a gasp ripped out of him. He stumbled back, terrified that he had crossed boundaries he wasn't supposed to. Gunmin had been more accepting of his affection lately, so he wasn't sure if he'd take it back all of a sudden. Drawing his hands up towards his chest, Youngjo stared at him with wide eyes. "What?" He repeated, voice straining. He wasn't sure what had Gunmin in a twist, but he was terrified to find out he ruined things _just_ when they were getting good.

_Just_ when he fell in love.

"Your chest-" Gunmin broke off, and in the glassy reflection of his umber eyes, Youngjo could see the glimmering red orbs bounce off of them. He seemed entranced at best and worried at worst, but he wasn't exactly breaking off into a sprint that would disturb the palace and invoke his father's wrath. "It's glowing- it's red? I-?"

Youngjo hastily splayed his hand over his chest, trying to hide it from view, but to no avail. The soft beams of light flittered through his fingers, showing his alight heart. Gunmin's eyes were zeroed in on him, staring at his chest. His mouth was slightly parted, but he didn't seem eager to run. This calmed Youngjo a bit, but not by much, because he knew what Gunmin was asking and he knew he couldn't answer him. Only because he didn't know a plausible answer himself.

"I'm not sure what it is," He admitted, slowly lowering his arm when Gunmin reached up to close his fingers over his forearm, pushing slightly to urge him down. "I think it's a curse, personally, but no one's ever told me about it."

"No?" Gunmin mused, finally lifting his eyes to meet Youngjo's. His heart slammed in his chest, causing the light to burn just a bit brighter. Youngjo half expected Gunmin to turn his attention back to the anomaly, but he kept looking right at him. His heart burned more. "It's so evident, though. Do people even question it?"

"They haven't since I was a child," Youngjo replied, his heart thrumming when Gunmin placed his splayed hand over the warmth, trying to feel it for himself, "Everyone just pretends like it's normal. For a second, I thought that it was, too."

"Maybe normal for you?" Gunmin guessed and Youngjo was pretending like his heart wasn't rocketing out of his chest. He was convinced Gunmin could feel it, but he wasn't worried about it. He was more focused on the fact that Gunmin rarely touches him and that his fingertips were pressed lightly into his chest. His breath was taken, sated, and he was counting down the seconds until Gunmin let go. He was finding himself restless and antsy at the thought of being close to him, something that he had tried to detach himself from doing the more his feelings grew. He didn't want to overwhelm Gunmin, despite every atom in his body craving closeness and desiring that form of contact from his dearest friend. Youngjo was a man of habit, really, and if he wanted contact he'd selfishly take it without a second care in the world. His mother had always called him a greedy bastard. Hands that always took and wails that whined, bothersome, whenever he didn't get his way. His mother wasn't a very good mother, he knew, but it was hard to ignore her when she was always on his mind. Taking his thoughts, morphing them into her own.

_YOU DON'T DESERVE_ _HIM_. Some echoing reminder chimed. He only thought such a thought in the comfort of his own bed, when he thought about how cute Gunmin was picking flowers or how he resembled a squirrel stuffing its face with acorns whenever he ate too much at one time. It was a fact he realized long ago, but he still wondered if Gunmin thought his weird habits and mannerisms were cute. Was Youngjo sweet when he presented him a delicate wildflower, flowers kept and strong? Was Youngjo cute when he smiled, lips curving like a cats? Was Youngjo pretty when the sun washed his face artistically? Did his eyes shade an ugly red, or was it the same pretty honey brown that Gunmin's resembled whenever he looked towards the canvasing sky?

"-Jo? Youngjo-hyung?" Gunmin's voice pulled him back to Earth, gently, and he slowly blinked as his fingers sought out the younger male's wrist. Gunmin was warm, warmer than him, and his skin was smooth as Youngjo pressed the pad of his thumb against the inside of his wrist. He could feel Gunmin's heartbeat, fluttering against his skin. It wasn't crazy, but it was erratic enough to catch Youngjo's interest. He counted the pulses. _One, two, three..._

"Youngjo-hyung?" Gunmin tried again, softer, and Youngjo felt his cheeks color. It was the only sense of warmth he had felt flush across his skin in ages, if at all. "What's on your mind?"

Before Youngjo could press his lips together to stop the onslaught of words, they spilled before him: "You."

Gunmin blinked, looking up at him, his eyes sharp as always, but he didn't seem disgusted or repulsed. Not even when Youngjo's tender expression morphed into horror when he realized what he said. A heartbeat, two, and there was no change in their position or aura. The terror died down and Youngjo realized that he had to run with it. If he took it back, claimed he didn't mean to say it, he knew that Gunmin would react poorly to that. Gunmin had always been one to take everything to heart, especially if it was something Youngjo said. They had always joked that Youngjo could say anything and Gunmin would worship it. It was a power imbalance that he didn't like to think about, but Youngjo had never abused it before. He definitely won't start now.

"You. I always think about you. I've always thought about you." Youngjo's voice shivered with the intensity of his feelings, but he didn't do anything to suppress it. He wanted Gunmin to hear _exactly_ how much he was loved. How much Youngjo cared. "I can't stop. You're like a plague on my mind-"

"A plague?" Gunmin's voice lilted, fond, despite the faux offense.

"In a good way!" Youngjo rushed to explain, which roused a giggle out of Gunmin and _God_. "In a good way. I've loved you for so long that I cannot picture a world where my heart doesn't belong to you." He clutched onto Gunmin's wrists tighter, half expecting him to run. Youngjo would, knowing he was coming on a bit intensely. Gunmin had pointed out his gaze once, on how it made him squirm when it was directed onto him. "Please don't leave, Gunminie, please-"

"Hyung." Gunmin laughed, eyes crinkling delightedly, teeth on display with the spread of his smile, "I'm not mad- or upset, for that matter! I'm so happy, so happy, you have no idea-" His voice takes on an unfamiliar waver and Youngjo fears he really did upset him until Gunmin takes his hands and throws them around his waist, leaning into his chest, pressing his cheek against the crimson light and nuzzling. Youngjo feels like melting.

Gunmin's hugged him before, but never like _this_. Never so sweetly, without tension, and he _never_ initiated it before. Youngjo half feels like crying, but that was overtaken by pure euphoria. He squeezed Gunmin closer, eliciting a squeal from him.

"You mean it? Genuinely?" Gunmin asked, muffled against the rumpled white fabric. Youngjo nodded, and while Gunmin wasn't peeking up to see, the motion shook his body and Gunmin took it as affirmation anyways. "Gosh. You know, I'm happy you said it. I didn't know how to bring it up first, because who can admit that when the one they love is someone so powerful and unique? When that person deserve the world, but acts like he doesn't?"

Youngjo perked up at that. "You-?"

Gunmin lightly hit his fist against his chest with an affectionate chuckle. "Yes, you fool. I love you, too. I always have." He pulled back a bit to peek up at him and Youngjo was in awe by the secret expression that he hadn't seen before. Not on Gunmin. He looked so...in love. _In love with Youngjo_. "Do you know you look so cute when you're trying to focus, princeling? Your eyebrows pinch together and you get this pout, the littlest jut of your lips, and you-"

Youngjo had to shut him up then and there with a sudden press of their lips. Gunmin let out another squeak of surprise, but molded into the kiss happily, anyways. Youngjo's hold on his hips drew him closer and Gunmin's hand curled into his shirt, holding tightly. They kissed slowly, with the speed of dripping honey, and Youngjo knew he wanted to kiss Gunmin for eternity. Until their lips went numb and purpled, until they bruised. There would be plenty of time for that, later, so Youngjo pulled back to look lovingly down at Gunmin, who gave a fluttering smile in response. Youngjo leans down and brushes their noses together, feeling like he was elated into Heaven. A Heaven that would reject him when he dies, when someone finally drives that knife through his heart.

He was so happy he could die.

"If I'm not yours by morning, then what are we doing, Youngjo?" Gunmin said, sneakily, giving him a smug little look that had Youngjo wanting to kick his legs out and squeal like a child with a crush. He squeezed Gunmin against him instead, delighted.

"Of course, my sweet Gunminie." He said, warmly, "I would always want you as mine."

Those words echo in his head two churning years to come, when Youngjo is nineteen and his eyes are so teary they hurt. When his spineless, faceless father drags him away from a sobbing Gunmin, cheek marred with an ugly bruise and hot tears dripping down his eyes, wetting his face unpleasantly. Youngjo had still thought he was beautiful, even then, even as his feet tripped over each other as he was dragged away. 

_YOU WON'T EVER SEE HIM AGAIN._ His father's voice screeched in his head, _DO YOU THINK YOU CAN LOVE, YOUNGJO? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK THIS COULD'VE WORKED?_

His father had only wanted him to burn, in the end. 

His father was a glutton for power, a glutton for Youngjo's success.

Youngjo only counted the feathers of his cell, back torn open and stinging, patiently waiting for the day he could see Gunmin again.

-·=»‡«=·-

_A N D T H E N I G H T S K Y T U R N E D R E D . . ._

* * *

"Gunmin-" Youngjo tried again, stepping forward, but Seoho only yanked himself back.

" _Don't_ call me that. The audacity after- after all you've _done._ " Seoho sneered, lips curling back into a distasteful snarl. Youngjo's heart ached at the unabashed display of hatred, but he clung to an ounce of faith when he took notice that Seoho's hands still shook as he turned the blade outwards, pointing towards him with hesitance. This drew Youngjo to step closer, and closer again, until the tip of his pressed against his clothed chest. His cape was still thick, and he knew it'd take some force to drive it fully through, but Seoho was weak. He always was. He didn't have the heart, and as bitter as it was to think, Youngjo knew that there was no true hatred behind his burning rage. 

"After all I've done?" He repeated back to him, monotonely, "What have I done, exactly, for you to look at me so coldly? Don't you know you're all my heart talks about, even after all this time? Even now, as you point your knife to my chest?" 

"You put yourself there." Seoho points out, and Youngjo dismisses it easily, "You've always put yourself in situations you don't want. ' _Woe is me '_ , but you've never tried to change your path. You've never fought for yourself. You let fate turn you cruel, Youngjo." He sucked in a shuddering breath, fingers tightening on the hilt. "Don't you think I've tried to reason it out? Don't you think I've tried convincing myself that you weren't as heartless as they make you out to be? But then...then G-Geonhak's body was found...and you- I knew then there was no going back. That you've made your choice and there was nothing left of the man I knew."

_Ah_. So _that's_ what this was about. Youngjo should've known.

Geonhak's body had been found a little over two years back, the front of his body coated messily with blood. He looked like he was sleeping- or so the reports say- but his death was grotesque as it was. Messy and undeserved for the farmer's son with a fresh smile and hair the color of the golden sun. Many say that Geonhak had been fighting a wild beast, but others say that Youngjo had killed him out of jealousy. Youngjo had been envious of his kind heart and how easy it was for him to get Gunmin to open up, but he would never take it a step further to straight out slaughter and maim him over it. He had quite liked Geonhak otherwise, and they had been good friends, once. 

But witness reports saw the feathered ends of his cape whisk away into the forest and the rest was history.

What they didn't know was the boy with wavy hair and dead eyes, gripping the slicked knife in firm hands. What they didn't know was the way he tossed the knife carelessly beside Geonhak's body, wiping his hands off on his dark shirt. 

"Well, hyung. Sorry to do this to you, but you know what it's like to lose something that was once yours." Dongju said, blankly, and for a moment Youngjo couldn't tell if he was talking to him or Geonhak. That was until he lifted his gaze and his breath was stolen by the vicious, untamed expression Dongju bore. It was unlike him and Youngjo was honestly chilled to the bone.

"Why?" He asked, and Dongju only shrugged in response.

"I lost him," He said, as though it explained everything, "I couldn't bear it. I had to do something about it." 

He spoke like Youngjo knew the feeling all too well, but he didn't. Dongju only shrugged again when Youngjo didn't reply, turning and disappearing into the woods, leaving Youngjo with a buzzing mind that not even the sounds of nature could ease away. He looked back to Geonhak, heart shattering, and he let his feet carry him over to his deceased friend. Crouching down, Youngjo reached out and carefully closed Geonhak's half lidded eyes with a disheartened sigh. Sadness seemed like a drug that he could get addicted to at this point, but he couldn't find it in himself to cry. He wanted to, though, believe it.

The claims of an emotionless killer fleeing the scene at the first sign of other life wasn't true. He cried when he got home, heels pressed into his palms, letting the salty tears flow. Believe it when he says that he loved Geonhak, too.

"What if I said that it was Dongju?" Youngjo tried, knowing Seoho wouldn't waver, but was surprised to find the flicker of surprise pass by anyways.

"I'd say you were lying." Seoho countered and, yeah, Youngjo was expecting that. "They were your _friends_ , how could you- how could you do that to them? Everyone knows it's you, everyone knows it's-"

"Dongju knows." Youngjo cut in, "Dongju knew what it was like to lose. He couldn't handle it. Not many can, admittedly, but he had lost it. Hasn't he changed since then? Isn't there something different? Something, something reserved-"

"Stop! Stop." Seoho's voice was thick, the air around them tensing and heavy, "You've always been good at mind games. I don't believe you."

"I know," Youngjo sighed, "I wish you did. I wish you still felt as though you knew me."

Seoho blinked, finally at a loss for words. Youngjo got going, repressed emotions spilling over before he could stop himself.

"I wish I felt like I knew you, too." He continued, wounded, chin raising and eyes stinging, but he kept himself at bay. "Loving you was the only thing that kept my humanity alive for years now. When I felt like I lost myself for good, knowing that I felt so strongly for you tethered me back to this sense of reality I wouldn't have had otherwise. I didn't kill Geonhak- I would never hurt my friend, whom I love, so dearly like that. I never would place the blame on Dongju for something he didn't do to begin with. I have always been a man of honesty, so why would I change that now?" Firmly, he looked towards Seoho, demanding that answer. His lips parted, but only trembling exhales came out. Youngjo conitnued.

"I don't even _know_ you anymore. You look different, your name is different, but you still sound the same. You don't call my name sweetly anymore- you call me by this term that I have no connection to. The people who think I'm a liar use it. The people who have convinced you to come to my throne and slay me where I stand!" Fueled by heartbreak and hurt, Youngjo seized Seoho by the wrist and forced the blade closer until he felt it stab. "Why aren't you doing it?! If you hate me so much, if you believe I killed Geonhak, why aren't you avenging him? Why do you still let me breathe and say these things to you if you think I'm toying with your heart and mind? Why do you let it happen? Are you that much of a masochist, Gunmin?" His gaze hardened, darkening with his fury, "Or do you truly not believe those things?!"

Seoho trembled like a leaf in his grasp, fingers loosening as the rush of ravens cawed overhead, shaking the palace. He cried out, fingers loosening until he dropped the knife. It clattered against the floor, filling the room with some sound other than shaky breathing.

"I don't know!" Seoho burst, sobbing brokenly, and his entire face scrunched up and reddened, "I don't know what to believe! I feel like I don't know you anymore! I want to- I want to go back to before, when it was- when you weren't so-"

"Do you hate me, Gunmin?" Youngjo repeated, and he had to a few times before he was able to shake it into him a bit. Until Seoho wailed and Youngjo wanted nothing more than to wrap him up again, despite how scared he was himself. 

"I want to!" Seoho dropped to his knees the second Youngjo released the lifeline on his wrists. Mournfully, Youngjo watched him hunch over, fingers pulling sharply at his orange hair. His gaze wandered to the knife, reaching down to pick it up with nimble fingers.

"If you truly believe me to be a bad man, then instead of living without your love, I'll die in hatred." Youngjo grieved, turning back to his throne. He heard a gasp somewhere behind him as he knelt down and faced the darkening glass, the sky hotly red and the ravens above cooing the final hour. Youngjo should've figured all along that it wouldn't be someone else that would come kill him. Sure, they'd deliver the blade, but in the end he had to take matters into his own hands and recognize that _of course_ he'd be the one to bring the end of his own fate. It was destined to be so, all along.

Youngjo didn't want to have to do this in front of Gunmin, but he knew that some necessities would be a must. It felt manipulative to kill himself in front of the man who cherished so dearly, and he would never want the image to be imprinted in his memory, forever. He knew what it was like to see someone he once loved dead before him. He wouldn't wish that on anyone else. So, he bowed his head and counted the seconds until he heard the creak of a door shutting firmly closed.

But he didn't hear them. There was bated silence and nothing more in the entire room. Lifting his head a bit, Youngjo peeked to the side, questioning through a gesture on what was wrong.

The footsteps did eventually come forward, but instead of traveling away, they came closer, pausing just behind him. Youngjo blinked wearily, but didn't look any further back. One glance to Gunmin's face and he might say something more reckless.

"What's going to happen if I leave this room?" Seoho asked, tensely.

"Fate." Youngjo answered. Seoho sucked in a breath.

"You're just going to end it all? You're not going to prove that you're not that man, but instead going to give yourself to death? Give yourself that legacy?" Seoho sounded disappointed, which confused Youngjo. That did surprise him enough to look back at Seoho, who was giving himself struggling determination. He held out his hand, palm upturned. "Give me my knife back."

"...Why?"

"You're not going to go through with it. I won't let you." Seoho grew more confident with each passing second. Confidence was always something Youngjo loved seeing on him. It was the reason he dropped the knife back into his calloused fingers and the reason why he didn't want to be the one to diminish those flames. "Here's what we're going to do: we're going to leave this palace and never look back, and you're going to prove to me you're not cruel. That you are the man I fell in love with all those years ago."

"And if you don't believe me?" Youngjo began to ask, but Seoho held up a hand, shaking his head.

"I'd rather not think invasive thoughts right now." He pressed, so Youngjo shut up, "I just want to try, at least, to know that you are who you are. I loved you, Youngjo. I can't just let you go like that. I never was able to. This was hard for me, but I know that I did it to selfishly see you once again. To prove to myself that you aren't that. I see the grief, the sorrow. I'm using it to tell myself that you are still you."

Youngjo remained quiet as Seoho sheathed his blade, holding out his hand again, but this time for Youngjo to take.

"Let's go and figure this all out, okay? Screw fate." Seoho spat, furious at this unseen force that had torn them apart in the first place, "You've never defied it before, I know, but we have to write our own path."

"I've always believed my red thread was tied to you." Youngjo felt like he had to say this, at the very least, "And that's what lead you back to me."

Seoho's expression wavered and he laughed again. Tired and droopy, but a laugh Youngjo heard before, and he felt like he could cry at the familiarity. "You can believe a thought like that, but live freely otherwise." Seoho shook his hand insistently, "Please. Let's start with Dongju, figure out what _really_ happened to Geonhak, and go from there. I'm willing to try this again with you."

"This is a risk you are taking." Youngjo pointed out, "Some might call it dangerous."

"You're Youngjo," Seoho smiled, "When have you ever hurt me before?"

Youngjo felt like his breath was taken away. There was a burden that could never be lifted from his shoulders for as long as he shall live, but he felt lighter in that moment than he had felt since they were separated. He could feel that pull, urging even now as he reached out to slide his palm against Seoho's. The hunter clutched tightly onto him and Youngjo's eyes fell closed.

"Are we going?" Seoho asked, tenderly.

There was something about life that was never perceived nor understood by the human race.

"Yes." 

In the end, he supposed as Seoho pulled him away from the throne and towards doors he hadn't left since he was a teenager, fate was a tricky thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> i kisSed the sCArs On hER S KIN  
> I Still THInk UR BEAUTIFUL And i NEVER Wanna LOSE MY BESt fRIEND  
> I SCREAMED OUT GOD U MonSTERRRRRRRS  
> TEDIFIJFDFHIhedsigffdih tKAME E WITH HER


End file.
